d much attention to such things," he answered, "but I
do remember the name of this one, because she named it for her
mother,--Amanthis."

"Amanthis," repeated the child, dreamily, as she leaned against his
knee. "I think that is a lovely name, gran'fathah. I wish they had
called me that." She repeated it softly several times. "It sounds like
the wind a-blowin' through white clovah, doesn't it?"

"It is a beautiful name to me, my child," answered the old man, laying
his hand tenderly on her soft hair, "but not so beautiful as the woman
who bore it. She was the fairest flower of all Kentucky. There never was
another lived as sweet and gentle as your Grandmother Amanthis."

He stroked her hair absently, and gazed into the fire. He scarcely
noticed when she slipped away from him.

She buried her face a moment in the bowl of pink roses. Then she went
to the window and drew back the curtain. Leaning her head against the
window-sill, she began stringing on the thread of a tune the things that
just then thrilled her with a sense of their beauty.

"Oh, the locus'-trees a-blowin'," she sang, softly. "An' the moon
a-shinin' through them. An' the starlight an' pink roses; an'
Amanthis--an' Amanthis!"

She hummed it over and over until Walker had finished carrying the
dishes away.

It was a strange thing that the Colonel's unfrequent moods of tenderness
were like those warm days that they call weather-breeders.

They were sure to be followed by a change of atmosphere. This time as
the fierce rheumatic pain came back he stormed at Walker, and scolded
him for everything he did and everything he left undone.

When Maria came up to put Lloyd to bed, Fritz was tearing around the
room barking at his shadow.

"Put that dog out, M'ria!" roared the Colonel, almost crazy with its
antics. "Take it down-stairs, and put it out of the house, I say! Nobody
but a heathen would let a dog sleep in the house, anyway."

The homesick feeling began to creep over Lloyd again. She had expected
to keep Fritz in her room at night for company. But for the touch of the
little glove in her pocket, she would have said something ugly to her
grandfather when he spoke so harshly.

His own ill humour was reflected in her scowl as she followed Maria down
the stairs to drive Fritz out into the dark. They stood a moment in the
open door, after Maria had slapped him with her apron to make him go off
the porch.

"Oh, look at the new moon!" cried Lloyd, po